


Aziraphale's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Colbert100



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colbert100/pseuds/Colbert100
Summary: Aziraphale plans out the perfect evening with Crowley, but then everything goes horribly wrong (or right, depending on how you look at it).





	Aziraphale's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work ever in this fandom, so hopefully it turns out okay! I bought the book but haven't read it yet, so this is based solely on the TV show.

Aziraphale had had an awful day. Not one, but eight - eight! - customers had decided to purchase books from his store, and he missed them (the books, not the customers) all dearly. One man had had the audacity to purchase a first edition Shakespeare biography from the 1700s.

He had always had a fondness for Shakespeare after visiting the Globe with Crowley, and the biography was an insightful piece that he had read and reread many times over.

He couldn't even remember why he decided to put it in his shop, and he was currently regretting that decision. It wouldn't have been very angelic of him to refuse to sell it, however, so he unfortunately had had no choice but to part with it.

In his miserable state, he didn't give much thought to his actions that evening after closing the store. He miracled up two front-row tickets to a new theatrical production - a modern Shakespeare adaptation, not coincidentally - and smiled to himself. _Crowley's going to love this_ , he thought.

He was absentmindedly planning the night out in his head, and his stress was melting away. First, of course, he'd have to go surprise Crowley at his dreadful, dark flat. In all actuality, he had a strange fondness for the place, but he never planned to inform Crowley of that fact.

He'd grab a bus and stop off at the flat, walk in, then probably interrupt one of Crowley's screaming matches with his plants. He'd present the tickets to Crowley, they would dine at a nice restaurant on the way to the theater, and then they would have a jolly good night. And, most importantly, absolutely no one would come to his shop tomorrow.

As he daydreamed, he hopped onto the bus, rode it for a while, and got off at the stop nearest Crowley's flat without paying a significant amount of attention to his surroundings. So it came as a surprise to him when he realized he was already standing in front of Crowley's door. However, it was an even bigger surprise that the door was cracked open.

 _Does he have guests over?_ Aziraphale thought to himself, confused. Of course Crowley could have other friends, and he was sure he did because Crowley was a demon and most likely got up to all sorts of demonic things when he wasn't with Aziraphale, but Crowley hadn't mentioned making any new friends recently.

 _Not that I would know, because we're not friends_ , Aziraphale reminded himself rather unconvincingly. _We just have a mutually convenient arrangement that occasionally results in fraternization. It's no business of mine what Crowley gets up to in his free time._

The thought did little to lessen his worry as he stared at the door, imagining all sorts of dreadful things that could be taking place behind it. What if someone had broken into the flat? What if they disturbed the plants? What if they tried to discorporate Crowley?

He laced and unlaced his fingers nervously. He knew it was an unforgivable invasion of privacy to bother someone when they had guests over, and most likely that was all this was, but he couldn't leave Crowley at the mercy of some demon-killer. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and walked into the flat.

It was dark and empty. There were no burglars and nothing seemed amiss. In the distance, however, Aziraphale heard a strange sound. Some sort of crashing noise near the back of the flat, as if there was an outbreak of fisticuffs. He looked over at one of the plants, which was twitching nervously.

"Is everything tickety boo?" he whispered to the plant. It twitched violently, which Aziraphale took as a "no." He thanked it then straightened his back, readying himself for the upcoming battle. He may not be the most aggressive or intimidating of angels, but he could still take whatever this was on in a fight.

He used a minor miracle to silence his footsteps then snuck further into the flat. Crowley's bedroom door was ajar, and the loud thumping noises were clearly coming from behind it. He took in a deep breath then pushed the door open ever so slightly, peeking in.

Well. That was unexpected.

Aziraphale shut the door and ran from the shop, unable to fully process what he had just witnessed.

Crowley had been spread out underneath a young, beautiful woman, completely nude. His eyes had been closed, but they opened the second that Aziraphale looked in, and they stared at each other. Crowley's serpentine eyes had widened in -- Shock? Surprise? Bliss? -- Aziraphale couldn't tell, because he'd almost instantly turned on his heel and sprinted out of the building.

The skies raged above him as he ran, and lightning struck a tree in a nearby park. Without any conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, the tree miraculously fell in the only direction that prevented it from injuring anyone enjoying an evening picnic in the nice weather (for the park was far enough away that it had escaped Aziraphale's thunderous emotions).

Aziraphale was not thinking about the fallen tree, however, or the rain that was soaking his tweed outfit. Instead, he was attempting to process what he had just seen and understand his strong reaction to the sight.

Crowley had never once expressed any of those sorts of desires in the past, at least not to Aziraphale. And considering that Aziraphale had known him for six millenia, he thought he knew Crowley better than anyone. They had witnessed biblical prophecies together, fraternized secretly in royal greenways, and eaten more dinners together than Aziraphale could possibly keep track of. In all honesty, he had to admit that he secretly considered Crowley a friend and thought Crowley had felt the same way. And yet, how had Crowley never told him about this?

The powerful, sick emotion raging inside of his body was unfamiliar to him, and it felt like torture. The scene he'd witnessed played through his mind over and over again, like a battering ram trying to destroy his defenses. Stripped of his usual self control, he let the feeling take over his mind as his feet unconsciously carried him back to the bookstore. The winds grew stronger and puddles began to form as the storm picked up in intensity.

How had he not known? How had Crowley never thought to inform his friend about such an important part of his life? And worse, why was it some random young woman? Had Crowley ever met her before? Aziraphale certainly didn't know her.

Aziraphale's own sexual awakening had been solitary and depressing. He'd simply tried touching himself one day after witnessing a human doing it, to see if his own body would find the act pleasurable. It did, although he never was interested in trying it with a human. Crowley was one of the few who would have understood. In fact, he was literally the only entity he could have spoken to. Imagining speaking to Gabriel, Michael, or one of the other angels about such an inherently human act was horrifying to even think about.

As he entered the sanctity of his bookshop and the smell of well-worn pages wafted over him, he calmed down slightly. He picked up a book - one of his favorites, some part of him noticed - and started reading the words without fully comprehending them.

The scenes in the book - an old classic, _A Tale of Two Cities_ \- started to gain more of his attention. The invasive images of Crowley sprawled out on a bed were gradually overshadowed by Sydney Carton's noble sacrifice and Madame Defarge's knitting needles. The sick feeling inside Aziraphale, which he refused to name lest other unspoken truths come to light, swirled throughout his mind, never fully going away.

He threw himself ever more fervently into his book, doing everything he could to avoid thinking too deeply about anything other than the novel, when he reached a portion with particular relevance to him. _In hindsight, this book was a terrible choice_ , he thought grumpily to himself. The characters were storming the Bastille, and the words brought to mind his own stay in the Bastille. Of course, he only avoided discorporation because of a certain wily demon...

"No!" Aziraphale shouted at nothing in particular, shutting the book and throwing it down (well, more like gently placing it down, but "throwing" sounded more dramatic and he was feeling rather dramatic right now). He couldn't avoid thinking about it any longer. He knew why it was bothering him so much. He had always known.

Ever since that first time he'd tried to satisfy his sexual inclinations about four millenia ago, he had only ever thought about one entity in a sexual light. And now he knew that, while that entity had similar desires, they had never been directed towards him. Instead, like many humans, Crowley satisfied them through mindlessly rutting against strangers.

  
_Jealousy_ , Aziraphale thought to himself as he wearily stood up and went up to his bedroom. _I'm feeling jealous._

* * *

  
The next day, there was no sign of Crowley. Nor the day after that. In fact, two whole weeks had passed by without even a voicemail from the demon.

That was just fine with Aziraphale. He wouldn't know what to say to Crowley, and he had decided that he never wanted to see him again. He hadn't yet gotten over his jealousy and didn't know if he ever would, but he was working on moving on and finding a new direction in his life. Perhaps he would even discover the pleasure of having meaningless sex with strangers one day.

So far, his new direction had consisted solely of him switching the history section of the bookstore with the biography section, but he was devising some outlandish, wild plots that he would surely execute at some point in the near future.

His plans for a new and improved life were interrupted one day by a knock at the door. He realized that it was the late afternoon, and that he had planned to open the store hours ago before he got caught up in restoring a particularly interesting map he had recently acquired. Sighing, he stood up, cracked his back, and walked to the door to inform the customer that the shop would not be opening today.

He opened the door.

Well, fuck.

A pair of familiar sunglasses stared back at him. Aziraphale promptly shut the door and stood still, hand frozen on the doorknob. He'd convinced himself over the last few weeks that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with this vile demon he had once, possibly, considered a friend. And yet, he couldn't walk away.

After a few more moments of indecision, he reopened the door. Crowley hadn't moved a centimetre. His expression was concealed by his sunglasses. Aziraphale stepped aside and pulled the door open further, smiling sheepishly.

Crowley looked at him for a moment longer, then walked inside and removed his sunglasses. His usual swagger was replaced by a slow, measured gait, and his hand twitched at his side. Crowley was... nervous? _Why is he nervous?_ Aziraphale wondered.

"Angel," Crowley started, then he stopped and took a deep breath. He was definitely nervous, although Aziraphale still didn't comprehend why. Sensing that they both might be more comfortable seated, Aziraphale beckoned him over to a chair. Crowley sat down, and Aziraphale sat across from him.

Aziraphale couldn't help but admire Crowley's long, lanky body as he made himself comfortable, though he knew it was inappropriate. He had refused to admit it to himself, but he'd missed Crowley a lot. Even though Crowley was a demon and supposedly his mortal (or immortal) enemy, life was just better when he was around. And now that he had seen Crowley unclothed, his illicit desires seemed to be more prevalent than ever.

Crowley settled in the chair and looked steadily at Aziraphale, no longer visibly nervous.

"Angel," he began again. "I'm sorry for the other night. I meant to close that door, and I'm sorry if what you saw disturbed you." He looked away, and his hand twitched again slightly, moving towards his other hand as if he wanted to grab it. "It won't happen again."

Aziraphale waited, expecting more. When Crowley continued not to say anything else, he spoke up.

"Crowley, there's no need to apologize for that. We've both seen human sexual acts countless times before. That wasn't the issue, not in the slightest. I'm sorry if you thought that I was disturbed by seeing you that way." _That was the only good thing to come out of this mess_ , Aziraphale thought to himself, but didn't say that out loud.

Crowley cocked his head. "Then what was the issue?"

Aziraphale blushed and looked away, wishing that he could miracle himself out of this situation and go back to restoring his new map. It was a fascinating find, too. Multiple maps drawn by the explorers who "discovered" America. He was enjoying reading their interpretations of the continent, as they were horribly incorrect.

He looked back. Crowley hadn't moved, and his miracle hadn't worked. He was still standing there, staring at him with those beautiful, wickedly smart eyes, and...

"Crowley, I... Well, I... Oh, fuck it." Without giving it too much thought (as he was prone to overthinking these things, not that anything like this had happened to him at any point in his long and rather eventful life), he stood up, stepped forward, and pecked Crowley on the lips chastely.

It was wonderful. Heavenly. Better than Heaven, given that he knew what Heaven was like. And it was over very quickly, as he pulled back and stepped away, ready for Crowley to never speak to him again.

"That's the issue," he said simply. Crowley hadn't moved.

"Oh," he replied, equally simply. He squinted at Aziraphale, as if he was trying to figure something out. Aziraphale fidgeted with his bowtie, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. If only he could have kept working on that restoration...

Suddenly, there were a pair of lips on his, pressing insistently. He opened his mouth instinctively, and a tongue slid in, as graceful as a snake. He shut his mind off and focused on the demon in front of him, sliding his hands into his hair to get a better grip. He'd experienced all manner of wondrous things in the universe, but this was certainly the most wonderful of all.

Crowley gasped as Aziraphale did something particularly wicked (who'd have thought he could do something wicked?) with his tongue, and Aziraphale tried his best to make Crowley make that noise again. He succeeded, not just once but five times, until the usually-composed Crowley was a gasping, writhing mess. Aziraphale wasn't doing much better.

It felt so much better than when he'd touched himself. His hands slid up and down Crowley's back, under his clothes, and worked their way up his chest. He touched a nipple and Crowley moaned blissfully. Smirking, Aziraphale steered Crowley back up against the wall.

*THUMP*

The noise reminded him of a much less enjoyable night two weeks ago, and he stopped. Crowley pulled back, confused.

"Aziraphale? Are you all right?"

Aziraphale shook his head, and Crowley stroked his cheek with more gentleness than Aziraphale had ever expected from him. Crowley took his hand and pulled him back to the chair, sitting him down in it.

Aziraphale looked down at the ground then looked back up at him, unsure what to say.

"You can't feel this way about me. I know you don't. I saw you with that woman. You and her were..."

"Fucking?" Crowley supplied.

"Yes, that. So why is this happening?" Aziraphale looked up nervously. Crowley laughed sharply.

"If I'd known you wanted this, this would have been happening back in that garden. I had no idea, Angel. But I didn't know, so I found strangers instead. A demon has needs, you know. And considering that my only other acquaintances have reptiles and flies all over them, I decided humans were the way to go. I never asked you, because I didn't want to scare you off."

Aziraphale chuckled at that. "If you didn't want to scare me off, you could try driving less than twice the speed limit occasionally." He looked up at Crowley, who smirked, and he finally felt like his friendship -- or whatever this was now -- might not fall apart.

He grabbed Crowley's hand, impulsively pulling him down onto his lap, and Crowley smoothly slid onto him.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I honestly had no idea you felt the same way as I did. That's why I was so surprised to see you with that woman. I was, well, jealous, I suppose." Crowley's eyes widened, and he licked his lips.

"You don't know how unbelievably hot that is. I've wanted you for so long, Angel," Crowley murmured.

"And now you have me," Aziraphale whispered back. Crowley licked his lips again, then dove down, crashing his lips against Aziraphale's.

Needless to say, no more strangers came to Crowley's flat. Aziraphale came there quite frequently, however. The first time Aziraphale and Crowley had sex in his flat, the plant Aziraphale had talked to high-fived its neighbor, glad that its plan had worked out and its owner was finally happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated. :)


End file.
